This was late on the evening when the Mets eliminated the Dodgers from the National League Division Series, inside the long, winding Dodger Stadium corridor that stretches to the visiting clubhouse. Walking this way — slowly, unhurriedly, as if he were savoring every step — was a slight man whose hat, shirt, and shoes were soggy.

“I squish when I walk,” Terry Collins said. “And it’s the greatest feeling in the world.”

That evening had been a quintessential test for a playoff manager: Do you stay with your scuffling starting pitcher, or yank him? Do you really bring in your rookie fireballer for the first relief appearance of his career in an elimination game? Are you really going to ask your closer to get the first six-out save of his career?

Collins’ choices: Stay with him. Yes. And yes.

Collins’ scorecard: Check. Check. Check.

“It’s all opinions, right? That’s what baseball is,” Collins said. “Opinions. Everyone’s got them. You. Me. My wife. The fans. Sometimes you make the right move. Sometimes you make the wrong move. That’s the fun part of this job.”

What we have been reminded of, time and again this offseason, is just how unique a job managing a baseball team really is. In other sports, the coach is part boss, part dictator, part god, and it shows. Football coaches impact just about every aspect of every game, for better or worse. Basketball coaches can’t make baskets for their players, but they can maximize their talents in manifest ways.

A baseball skipper? There are a few musts in the job: You’d better communicate. You’d better have a terrific relationship with your players, one that can withstand the relentless grind of 162 games. You’d better be able to put up with the daily requirements of media access and accountability — and if you can be glib and occasionally spin a good yarn, even better.

Collins’ ability to perform these tasks never has been in question, not in the bad times, not during the losing times. In some years, it maybe meant the difference between 88 losses and 98 losses. In other words: easy to ignore.

Then there are the things a manager tends to during the games: Lineups. Pinch hitters. The bullpen. Double switches. Send the runner? Bunt? Squeeze? We are schooled most managers don’t have the kind of control they used to, with rare exception (Joe Maddon, Buck Showalter). The ideal modern manager, we’ve been assured, is more caretaker than game changer.

Just about every button the manager has pushed has been the golden one. Just about every decision he’s made has been the correct one. Almost every opinion has been right — and, like the man said, it’s more fun when you’re right.

Game 5 against the Dodgers was the microcosm. But the examples have been varied and they’ve been extensive. How about Game 4 in Chicago: Sticking with Lucas Duda when the wolves were baying for him to be benched; Duda drove in five runs. Bringing in Bartolo Colon with two outs in the fifth to face Kris Bryant with two on; Colon struck out Bryant, pitched 1 1/3 clean innings, earned the win.

How about where this run started, Labor Day week in Washington, which included Collins using Kirk Nieuwenhuis as a pinch hitter (and Nieuwenhuis delivering a game-winning home run) and then sending up Kelly Johnson the next night (when Johnson hit a game-tying homer on a night when Stephen Strasburg was untouchable)?

Oh, and this: Collins and his hunches and his opinions, they just went 4-0 against Joe Maddon, whom some — your humble narrator among them, admittedly — would’ve thrown a blank check at last year, when he became available. In its own way, that’s as stunning as Ned Yost sweeping Showalter in last year’s ALCS.

Or is it?

“It’s like anything else,” Collins said. “When a hitter’s hot, you go with what’s working for you. When you’re on a roll in this job, you just keep being true to what you believe. And hope it works out.”